Picky tastes
by here-goes-the-username
Summary: Watanuki has met his fair share of Doumekis and one thing always remained the same: their stomach. However, there was bound to be a picky eater eventually.


Kimihiro had dealt with his fair share of Doumekis by now. Tsuyuris they were as well, yes, but some of them were just so Doumeki that Kimihiro couldn't help but huff at them for no reason. The male dominated genetics just couldn't be sullied, it seemed. It left Kimihiro confused sometimes, on odd days when nothing seemed to work together or make any sense and he'd see a face and wonder who the hell it was he was looking at before piecing it together, remembering who was here, who was gone, and who was never really here in the first place.

At least he got better at reading the emotions. Yes, they all had that same generally expressionless face, blank as a board, but perhaps they weren't _entirely_ expressionless and they each had their own personalities.

Though Kimihiro had absolutely seen boards with more visible expression than a Doumeki.

At any rate, it seemed it was time to be passed off to another Doumeki full-time.

Kimihiro couldn't help but feel he must be the oddest family legacy. "Here, take care of your great-grandparent's old friend he lives in a shop and grants wishes."

For this reason, Kimihiro tried his best to be civil and friendly but damn if it didn't irk him sometimes to see that Doumeki face over and over. The differences were good though. Some smiled, some didn't, some rolled their eyes at him and some even laughed—a deep belly laugh that left Kimihiro speechless the first time he heard it.

One thing that remained the same, aside from the face, was the Doumeki stomach. Or mouth, he supposed. No matter what Kimihiro cooked, a Doumeki would shove it in their face rudely, chewing far too loud and requesting more.

Until _this_ one.

Even since he was a child, he was the pickiest eater. Yes, many children are picky and Kimihiro didn't expect him to like _everything_ that young, but he never progressed past that. No matter what Kimihiro cooked, there was always something wrong with it. The texture was wrong, it was too salty or sweet, it didn't sit right in his mouth, it had too much ginger, blah blah blah.

Sure, Kimihiro couldn't really remember the taste of his own food, but after spending so long being told it tasted good, he thought certainly not _that_ many people would lie to him. Clearly this one was defective somehow. Something had gone wrong somewhere, because this one could not possibly be the great-grandson of Doumeki Shizuka.

But in every other way he was such a Doumeki. In fact, he really was the most like Doumeki Shizuka, this terrible taste aside.

And now this Doumeki was his primary, well Kimihiro hesitated to say _caretaker_, but whatever do you call someone who runs all your errands when you can't leave your house. This guy was going to be around all the time being too blunt, asking dumb questions, and chewing too loudly _without even liking the food_.

So that became Kimihiro's new crusade. Every damn recipe he could think up that this guy might like, he tried it. But he was in his late 20s and still thought umeboshi was too salty, what the hell was Kimihiro supposed to do with someone like that? How he ended up so tall was beyond Kimihiro's admittedly extensive understanding.

It was… he didn't want to say it was annoying, but… well, it was annoying! It was very, very annoying! He tried to keep it simple (takoyaki, soboro, onigiri, satoimo nikorogashi, tempura, yakisoba). He tried to make it fancy, experimenting with good cuts of meat and making his own noodles. This guy couldn't even be convinced with the array of wagashi Kimihiro had put together one day in hopes that surely _something_ would catch his eye. Or his mouth or stomach or whatever; why wouldn't this child eat _anything_?

"What do you eat at home?" Kimihiro asked one day as he gathered the dishes from another unsuccessful dinner attempt.

Doumeki just shrugged. Typical.

"I go out a lot."

He goes _out_? And that was somehow better than home cooking?

"Why go out when you have a housewife right here!" Mokona chimed in jumping high enough that Kimihiro's extended fist was able to whack him on the head.

"I'm not a housewife."

Doumeki looked down at the alcohol Kimihiro had poured skeptically, wrinkling his nose.

"It's cloudy," he stated blandly.

"It's supposed to be cloudy," Kimihiro explained with a groan before taking all the dishes into the kitchen.

There had to be something—_anything_—that this guy would eat!

Personal pride aside, how in the hell was Kimihiro supposed to pay this Doumeki back if he couldn't cook for him?

No, no, it would be fine. _Surely_, he could find _something_ this overgrown child would eat and actually enjoy.

"Try this," Kimihiro told him.

"It's lumpy."

"It's supposed to be lumpy."

Okay, try again.

"I made something new, eat it."

"Bitter."

"This isn't a cake, it's not supposed to be sweet."

One more time.

"This."

"Don't like it."

And on and on and on and who knew how long this went on. Was it a year? Was it a week? Did it matter how long it was, it was obnoxious either way.

Kimihiro couldn't stop thinking about this. Couldn't stop planning meal after meal for this fussy eater. He started asking every customer what their favorite food was and then just cooking that to see if anything stuck, yet nothing did. Some days this Doumeki was less averse than others, but there was no snitching off others' plates, no rude requests for seconds.

"Am I losing my touch?" he asked Mokona one hot day as the girls played in the sprinkler in the back. It's not like he would notice if he had.

"Never! Just as domestic as ever!"

Kimihiro just huffed and rolled his eyes, then headed round to the front yard to greet the customer who had just wandered through the barrier, leaving the girls to their fun.

"Hello!" he called at the very confused woman.

She startled at the sudden sound and seemed flustered.

"O- oh. I was just passing through, I'll go now I'm so sorry," she told him.

He just smiled at her and gestured for her to enter the shop. "If you're here, it's for a reason. Won't you come in for some tea?"

It was just a reading, nothing particularly interesting. Kimihiro just smoked his pipe as she spoke, giving her name and birthday (she was so young; what year was it?) and those of her crush. Fairly typical.

"How well you two work together depends on the work you put into it," he told her. "You two have gone through much for each other, and will continue to do so, should you pursue the relationship."

She didn't reply, expecting more, apparently. Fine, Kimihiro could give her as much as she was willing to pay for. Until he felt it was time to stop. So he took a breath and continued.

"Your concern for your parents is nothing to ignore, considering the circumstances with your brother."

The sun hit that angle it did when it was time to start on dinner and Kimihiro hadn't even thought about what he would try tonight.

"Ah,"

Doumeki would be here tonight.

"He is well, you should know. Passed on properly, safely. I see your preoccupation."

Maybe he should just make _Doumeki_ cook. See what _he_ thinks is so great.

"Perhaps this is the true cause of your concern, and your insistence."

No, no, Kimihiro could find something.

"I don't believe you came to me for a compatibility reading."

What was in the fridge right now?

"You haven't properly grieved. This fascination with your friend is merely a distraction."

He had that beef tongue still. Would that be above Doumeki's palate?

"To answer your question, you and this person have an unclear compatibility, but to address your desire, your wish… the cause of your unhappiness is deeper than loneliness. Your presence at this shop isn't to ask my opinion on your choice of dating."

Maybe he should try some western food? A pasta dish of some sort?

"You wish to fill that emptiness, is that not correct?"

"I-" The woman looked around, eyes wide and mouth slack. "Yes. But I thought-"

"This is a wishing shop," he explained. "Fortunes are not my specialty."

"You… grant wishes?" she asked.

"I do." He leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin on his hands. "For a price, of course."

Maybe a drink. Maybe this Doumeki was more interested in drinks.

"What… kind of price?"

"Well that depends on the wish. The price and wish must be equal. If I help you with your dilemma, you-"

Ah.

"-should help me with mine."

"Help… you?" she asked, confused.

Kimihiro sat up straighter. "What is your favorite meal?"

So, he invited the woman to the kitchen to make her favorite meal, which turned out to be oden. Completely out of season, but that only did more to assure Kimihiro that this was the answer.

When they had finished, the woman smiled at him.

"I feel much less empty," she told him.

Kimihiro returned the smile with a tight one of his own. "Cooking fills more than your stomach, you know. It is an act of creation and a way to express feelings that words can't articulate. Share what you make with those around you," he advised.

The woman nodded. "Thank you," she said. "You granted my wish, but I'm afraid I haven't paid you at all?"

Kimihiro turned to the oden and tried to suppress a grin.

"I assure you, you have paid."

He sent her on her way with most of the oden and some suggestions on meals and the assurance that the void she feels can be filled through creation and connection, then readied the table for when Doumeki would arrive in three, two, one…

The girls ran through the house to the front door to invite Doumeki in.

Kimihiro met him in the entry and stared him down, frowning.

"What?" Doumeki was surely confused at the stare, and looked down at his bag of groceries, probably concerned he'd bought bad vegetables again. This one couldn't pick a fresh leek if it introduced itself to him on the street.

"Dinner," was all Kimihiro said before returning to the kitchen.

"Are you angry?" Doumeki asked, trailing after him. Such an un-Doumeki thing to say.

"No, it's annoying," Kimihiro explained, already losing hope in the oden. "I get annoyed, just like anyone else."

"Okay."

Doumeki took a seat at the table and watched closely as Kimihiro dished the oden.

"Oden?"

"Yes."

"It's summer."

"It is."

Doumeki offered no further complaints, as he shouldn't.

Kimihiro set three bowls down and watched Doumeki closely as he looked at it with distrust.

Dammit this wasn't going to work. This was just a payment. Coincidence.

No, when was the last time Kimihiro had called _anything_ a coincidence? He could barely recall.

It took a long moment before Doumeki decided he trusted it enough to join Mokona in a chorus of _itadakimasu_, and an even longer moment for him to try eating the food at all.

But one bite and Kimihiro could see the expression go from blank-faced disgust to blank-faced enjoyment.

"It's good," Doumeki said, so blandly that Kimihiro groaned.

"That's all you can say?

Doumeki just nodded, and kept eating.

Great, one dish down, only a few… hundred or so to go. This was going to take a while.

* * *

A/N:

To be fair, umeboshi is _very_ salty. The only saltier thing I've eaten is Vegemite.

As always, love it? hate it? wanna say hi? have a prompt? leave a review! Thanks for reading!


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